Hi all! I think enough of you are reading/enjoying this so I decided to continue.

Per last time, present day is indicated by the text in italics.

….

He doesn't think twice about picking the lock when she doesn't answer.

He thinks too much when the apartment is still. No Ziva in the kitchen, living room, bedroom.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he finds her sitting upright, back slumped against the bathroom cabinet.

Her left wrist rests loosely on the bathroom floor, a small puddle of blood in its wake.

…..

Last week

He sees the red on her shirt.

She has placed her hand on his desk, leaning over his shoulder to peer at the BOLO hits on the monitor.

A thin line of crimson stains the bottom of the tight cream sleeve.

Before she even sees for herself, she knows from the look on his face. Tony has caught a glimpse of her truth.

"Uh, why are you bleeding?"

She straightens, shrugging as she glances at the spreading crimson. She knows exactly which cut has reopened.

She throws a casual response as she leaves Tony's side, sitting back at her desk in search of a tissue. "Just a scratch from that warehouse search this morning."

Tony stands up, too, leaning against the front of his desk. Arms crossed. "You see Ducky?"

She laughs. "It is just a scratch, Tony."

"Okay Zee-vah," he replies, watching as she makes her way to the bathroom. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, his cop instinct asking if he's really reading this situation right.

But his gaze lingers for only a minute after she rounds the corner, before he shakes his head and returns to the BOLO results.

…

At first he thinks she is dead – his head grows dizzy and his body explodes with heat – but he yells her name anyway – "Ziva!"

And then he sees that she is breathing, but silent. Eyes open, yet glassy.

He grabs her hand and holds it upright, yanking down a towel hanging from a hook behind him.

"Ziva," he pleads again, his voice sharp and biting as he wraps her wrist in the tan terry cloth.

Her lips do not move; he's not even sure she knows that he's there.

It is only when he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, does she speak.

"Tony," she starts, pulling her wrist out of his grasp. "It has stopped."

And he is left sitting there, heart pounding, mouth open, as she uses the bathroom counter to pull herself off the floor. Bloody towel left behind.

He knows what she means – that the bleeding has stopped – but all he can think is,

When did it start?

….

Last Week

"You want Chinese or Indian?" He asked, placing several menus on her desk. "There's a new Indian place down the street I thought we could try."

"No Indian, Tony," called McGee, looking up from the restricted email account he was trying to hack.

"McSensitive, just because the last time you ate spicy food you spent three hours in the bathroom and missed Gibbs'…."

"Tony!" Jumped in an agitated McGee. "How many times do I have to tell you I have a delicate stomach?"

Ziva wanted to close her eyes and rub her temples. The amount of work to do on this case was insane enough, without Tony and McGee sharing their dysfunctional relationship with the group.

"McGee," started Ziva. "We will order you something you can eat. You will like it, I promise."

"Thank you, Ziva," offered McGee, shooting Tony a 'why can't you be this nice' look.

As McGee went back to hacking, Tony turned once more to Ziva.

"How's your scratch, Zee-vah?"

She held up her arm, cream sleeve replaced by that of a dark blue v-neck. "It's orange-y."

Tony chuckled. "Unless you have an orange covered – or flavored – band aid, I think you mean peachy, Zi."

She wanted to be home with a glass of wine and her bed and a razor.

"That too."

…

She has put on a sweatshirt and is moving quickly in the kitchen, pulling plates and knives and mugs from the dishwasher.

He walks around the kitchen counter, toward her, but the dark look in her eye stops him.

"Normally I shoot people who break into my apartment."

He ignores the joke. "What's going on here, Ziva?"

She turns her back to him, placing a stack of plates in a corner cabinet.

"I think it is fairly obvious, yes?"

"Why, Ziva?"

She turns toward him, arms crossed against her stomach. "You should go, Tony."

"You know I can't leave you after…" He searches for words to describe what he's just witnessed. But all he comes up with, is, "…this."

She takes a few steps toward him, leaning against the counter. Their faces are close enough to where Tony would have normally debated kissing her.

"What do you think will happen, Tony?" Her voice is even and calm, as if she were asking about where to order dinner.

"Do you really want me to say it, Zi?"

She doesn't, she realizes, and she pulls from him.

"Look, it is late. You have nothing to worry about, Tony." She leans forward once more and pats his cheek, turning on the Ziva that he had so willingly accepted, believed, all these days.

The anger on his face is visible when he speaks, though she does not falter when she realizes that Tony is no longer buying her front.

"Nothing to worry about? You took a razor blade to your wrist, Ziva. I don't need to tell you how easily you could have bled out."

"I was not trying to….do what you think, Tony."

"Then what were you d…?" It hit him, right then, as hard and quickly as if she had gut punched him. The blood last week – she wasn't trying to kill herself.

And when he looked up from his realization she had changed. Her face was hard and her words stung.

"You brought me home from Somalia, Tony, but that does not mean you have any right to try and rescue me from the hell it created."

"Ziva, you don't have to go through…"

"That's right," she cut him off. "I do not have to do anything."

After everything. After Rivkin and Tel Aviv and Somalia – he had risked first his career, and then his life.

But as it turns out, he never really saved her.

He used his voice to throw the rage back at her. "Then why do you do it? You know Gibbs will yank you if he…"

And then she is yelling.

"I will never speak to you again if you say one word of this to Gibbs, Vance."

"Ziva…"

"Out, Tony! Now!"

He could barely breathe the air was so thick with his discovery, her pain. This wasn't how it should have gone.

They teach you, as a cop, how to deal with victims and yelling at her certainly…

Tony stopped himself, had to grab onto the counter for support.

Did he just call Ziva a victim?

…..

One Month Ago

He thought of her, often. Whether she was eating and sleeping.

He wondered if she thought about him, too.

The anticipation of seeing her was like the year his grandmother was in remission. You never knew, if it would come back. And if it did, what it would look and act like.

Every ring of the elevator bell, he looked up. Searched for her face in the grocery store, or the park where she once ran.

And then one day, she was simply there.

She was healed and fresh faced and could walk without using him and McGee as crutches.

Strode right up to his desk and perched on the edge. Swiped a chip from his open bag, chewed thoughtfully before speaking.

"I see that you are well rested after your time in the desert."

And it was that simple. Ziva was back.

….

"Let me sleep on your couch – tonight – and I don't tell Gibbs."

"Tony, you…"

She trailed off and it didn't take Tony's investigative skills to recognize that she had little, if no fight left in her tonight.

"Just for tonight?"

He nodded, his mind already spinning with what to actually do about….this…tomorrow.

"I will get the blankets."

"Great. I'm going to the bathroom."

It is only after she hears the door close does she realize he's used the bathroom in her bedroom. It is only after she makes up the couch, says a terse goodnight and closes her door for the night, does she realize he's removed all the razors from her cabinet.

And that the linoleum floor is now a dull white, as if it had never been marred by blood from self-inflicted wounds.

Almost as if nothing had happened at all.

…

Next Time…..see if you can guess who this little exchange is between

"You know, Ziver, it's okay to have a hard time adjustin."

She keeps her eyes lowered.

"But what's not is for you to not come to me."